Just Another Conundrum

Some have wanted much bigger breasts.  
Some would prefer it all petite.

Some have wanted me to be their mother. 
Some wished me nothing like her.

Some have wanted more passion. 
Some desired so much less.

Some have complained that I was too free.
Some grew frustrated that I couldn't relax. 

Some have wanted control and chains.
Some continuously pushed away.

Some have tried to change me.
Some thought I changed too much.

Some have felt intelligence was a flaw.
Some were embarrassed by the lack.

Some have demanded quiet and meek.
Some desired more social grace.

Some have asserted that fighting was needed.
Some felt conflict was better avoided.

Some have been stuck in the past.
Some were terrified of the present.

Some couldn't stop being womanizers.
Some saw me as a safe cover.

Some thought of me as their financial gain.
Some saw a break for escaping their own debt.

They have all wanted something that I am not.
They have all called it love.

They have all expected me to accept them.
None could love me for who and what I am.

None really understood love.
None thought about it until I was gone.

On Recent Quotes

I apologize that there have been a lot of quotes and few written blogs, as of late.  Had a lot on my mind and while I am still writing quite a bit--most has to remain in draft form, for now.  I am sure at some point I will post them for the world, but not yet...

"Controllers, abusers and manipulative people don't question themselves.  They don't ask themselves if the problem is them.  They always say the problem is someone else." ~Darlene Ouimet~

Thought for the Day

The Process of Healing

I thought that I would do something nice for myself, this week, and got a full-body massage.  I still suffer from a lot of physical pain--residue from past abuses--from both the police and in general.  The pain causes me significant difficulties in life and one of my most problematic areas is driving.  One doesn't realize the range of body motion required for driving until one is not capable of performing said motions.  While the massage was mostly pleasant, at the time (only three or four major winces), by that evening, I felt as though I had been in an automobile accident--by the following day, I could barely walk and was contemplating an emergency room visit.  Four days later, and I am still unable to function in a "normal" manner.

 

I am currently down to working fourteen hours per week.  Since the 2010 incident, I still haven't returned to full-time hours.  Of course, my full-time was always closer to fifty to sixty hours per week, especially with the position that I had prior to the PFA, prior to the police incident, prior to my life changing.  At that time, I was also salaried, so the work week only ended when I caught up and that never seemed to happen.  Today, I am overwhelmed with fourteen work hours.  Part of this, as well, is due to not being sure how much longer I will be capable of driving.  My current schedule allows for me to have a day of recuperation after each day of driving.  Seems ridiculous?  I drove Tuesday when I knew that I shouldn't.  I drove today, when I knew that by doing so, I not only put myself in danger, but other drivers due to my range of motion issues.

 

Daily diet, every four hours, 1800 mg of Ibuprofen, alternated with 660 mg of Naproxen Sodium.  I don't feel that either does much more than take a bit of the edge off.  This has been my recipe for almost four years now.  Monday night, I was barely able to undress myself; I cried as my fiancé took my socks off of my feet because bending over to do it myself wasn't an option.  I have been fiercely independent my entire life.  Facing a broken body and helplessness is almost beyond what I am capable of dealing with.  Fiercely independent women deserve to be broken, though, right?

 

The six-year relationship of pummeling--I only ever fought back once.  That led to a beating that included a concussion and the possibility of being blind in my left eye.  Thankfully, when the swelling went down and my eye opened back up, I still had my sight.  Generally, all that was ever required to achieve my bruises was being present.  He would come home from a night of drinking and drug use--there I was, his ready-made punching bag.  He would wake up the next day, as confused and mortified as I was.

 

My two-years of severe emotional abuse--again, I would sit, cry and take it.  He complained on a daily basis that I didn't know how to fight and that was "our problem."  I just learned early in life that words in return, up the ante, and eventually lead to beatings.  I am not stupid.  I have never spoken a word regarding many of the things that happened during that relationship because it is still too embarrassing, still too humiliating.  I may be fiercely independent, but I know beaten-down; I know broken; I know scarred.  Four years later, including a year and a half of intensive domestic violence counseling and I still don't know that many of the incidents will ever be shared beyond the "instant replay" that I often see in my mind.  It is still that horrible to me.  I still have nightmares that wake me up from a dead sleep on a regular basis.  Sharing much of what happened, still isn't a possibility.

 

Fierce independence.  It is why my father has always had issues with me.  It is why he felt justified in turning two polices officers on me--pumped up on my father's tales that I was homicidal, suicidal, had aggressive pets and had not only written a letter stating that I was going kill my entire family but had also recently caused physical harm to others.  It is why he has always felt a need to knock me down.  Punishment.  Control.  These have always been the basis for any good relationship.  Women like me just need to be put back in their place, that is all.  When belittling and humiliation no longer work, brute force is an excellent choice.  When you can't do it because you might lose your job, send someone else to do it, always an excellent choice.

 

And today, I feel as though they have won.  How can I be independent?  I don't know how much longer I will be able to drive.  I am already very limited.  Being unable to drive affects my ability to work and support myself.  Being unable to support myself means eventual dependence.  Dependence on what???  I can't rely on my family.  I won't rely on the "system."  What happens when they finally physically break us?  Is my spirit only a matter of time?  I have fought so hard to reassemble the bit of positive self-regard that I still possess.  What now???

Saccharine Smiles and Dagger Bouquets

I'm not sure that I will ever understand some women.  I don't understand the need for catty comments, false smiles and sweet words that have the underlying taste of acid.  The pretenses; the thin veil hiding saccharine-flavored nastiness; comments shaped as daggers but hidden in flowers and hearts.  What possesses women to treat each other like that?  What creates that desire to strike other women down?  Is the sisterhood concept so difficult to grasp?  

 

Competitive?  Want to run a race?  Run fast and run hard.  But don't be surprised when stopping to check and see how far ahead you are, to discover that I simply turned and walked the other way from the start.  Don't misunderstand, I am quiet. I am passive. I may ignore slights and negative comments; but that does not mean that I am weak.   Have you earned the upper hand? Are you better than me just because I don't bite back?  I am not going to break just because you want me to.  I am simply not interested in such games.  I do not have the time, the energy or the desire.  If you insist on playing, don't be upset when I don't join in; it just isn't my cup of tea.  I never learned to play like that and it is a game that I don't even care to watch from the sidelines.

 

I prefer to live and let live.  If you don't like someone, don't be around them.  Don't agree with someone's opinion?  Agree to disagree and recognize that neither of you are necessarily right... or necessarily wrong.  If you are jealous of someone, find out what it is that triggers your feelings and work on those issues within yourself.  If someone else has the relationship that you want, don't attempt to swoop in and take it for your own--look at what it is within that relationship that you crave and add it to the list of what you are seeking in your own partner.  If your significant other does fall for their ruse and is led astray, let them wander away.  The best answer is that they deserved each other from the start and you are better off without either of them.  Is it that simple?  Yes, it really is.

 

This is why 90% of my friends are male and always have been.  If I have to worry about being stabbed in the back; if the intent is to belittle and cut; if being mean-spirited is sport, I will put distance between myself and the other individual without thinking twice.  If someone is intentionally cruel to others, even if it isn't me, chances are, that distance will still be earned.  There are some breaks in trust and faith that prevent future bonds from forming.  I am a firm believer in "do unto others, as you would have them do unto you."  I may not do equal harm in return, but I will no longer go out of way for that individual, either.   

 

This is also why the females that I have embraced and welcomed into my life are some of the most amazing people imaginable.  Mostly tomboys, bruisers, strong women; the girls that have never been interested in the games.  Females that don't rip apart their friends but put them back together when the world has been rough--females that see the good in life and help others find it, as well.  Creative souls, open souls, free-thinkers, and those that bypass labels.  There are even a few princesses and queens in my circle, but they are true and I trust them with my heart.  I am content with my circle; I have wonderful people.  My circle is small and close-knit for good reason.  And I have always been content on my own; perhaps this is why I have never felt the need to conform or be liked.  This is why I can walk away and not need such "friendships."  Friendship shouldn't be painful, anymore than love is meant to hurt...

Closet Doors

Those of you that know me, know that I love Halloween more than any other day of the year.  So much, in fact, that I additionally celebrate Halloween in April when about thirty friends and myself dress up and go out and about, in costume.  I also created Zombie Valentine's Day, where we dress up as zombies and dine in the nicer establishments, where couples like to celebrate the love-fest (because there is nothing quite like proposing to your girl with a group of zombies carrying on at the next table).  Random costumes occur all year long, in my world.

 

As a result of my love for Halloween, I have collected Halloween decorations for as long as I have had money to spend and many of the gifts that people have bought me for my birthdays and Christmas were Halloween oriented.  The amount of money that I have amassed in Halloween decorations, costumes, and accessories throughout the years is astronomical.  I used to keep the decorations up year round and friends often joked that visiting my home during the Christmas months was reminiscent of being part of The Nightmare Before Christmas.  These days, I have a closet dedicated to just Halloween items--one of the luxuries of being a homeowner.  Even still, my house always has a touch of macabre in any room you enter.

 

I haven't decorated for Halloween since 2007, due to moving in with the PFA-ex.  I wasn't permitted to have any of my personal items on display in his house--be it pictures, decorations or knick-knacks.  When I moved in, he had the entire upstairs of his house blocked off and it was basically storage.  I cleaned each room upstairs and turned one of the rooms into a ferret room, complete with paying for and installing laminate flooring.  I had the ferret room and a spare bedroom that had some of my personal items in it.  He permitted the spare bedroom to be decorated since his teenage daughter lived in Tennessee and would need a place to sleep during a visit (he also talked me into spending $375 for her plane ticket since he didn't have a credit card--like always, he promised he would pay me back--more promises that he never kept).

 

Basically, what happened when I moved in with him was, I sold and gave away most of my possessions and put my own house on the market.  While living with him, the majority of my remaining possessions were in boxes.  Other than the two rooms upstairs that he didn't use anyhow, the house was kept "his;" never "ours."  His excuse was that since his house was "under construction," he didn't want my stuff to get broken and we would have to take it down as the remodeling occurred.  Oddly enough, there was very little remodeling that occurred during my time with him.

 

At any rate, since my possessions were not a part of "our life together," decorating for the holidays did not happen, either.  When I moved back into my home in 2009, I had very little left.  No furniture, no kitchen supplies, most of my possessions were sold for pennies on the dollar simply because I did not have the room to store them at his house and why would I need my own things?

 

I moved back in November of 2009.  2010 saw me too depressed to care about decorating--even for Halloween.  That was the year that I lost my family and my nephews--why bother with decorating if they were not going to be here to appreciate it?  During the next two years, my current boyfriend/fiancé had moved in and we were finding places for his belongings, as well.  Halloween wasn't a priority.

 

So here we are, 2013. I have the itch once again! I am excited!  It is like a reunion with old friends.  I start envisioning where everything will go; I start thinking about all of the awesome that is tucked away in my Halloween closet; I remember how much fun it always was putting it up and have just barely managed to make it until September to dig it all out and begin.

 

Today was the day, I made sure that my paperwork was done and we started dragging out the boxes.  Except, wait! Where is the crazy, motion-activated ghost that scared my nephews so much that I had to turn it off whenever they visited?  Where are all of my cool, little action figures?  Where is my Hellraiser stuff?  Where is... everything???

 

My lords.  Did I really sell off that much?  I know a lot of it ended up being given away to friends and going to Agape (a local, charitable organization that helps families in crisis, at no charge to them).  There is a good possibility that some of it accidently got left behind at his house.  Either way, my excitement soon turned to disappointment as I searched for this item and that, only to discover that they were gone. 

 

I know I sound whiny.  I know, they were just replaceable possessions.   So many things that I lost in that relationship.  Family.  Friends.  My self-esteem.  Thousands of dollars.  Maybe it was just too much on an already emotionally challenging day.  Maybe I just want to reach the point in the story where I can tell it without feeling the pain attached.  Maybe it is just one more piece of my life that I will never get back.  Maybe it is just a reminder of how much I lost because of that relationship.

 

Maybe it is symbolic of the disappointment that relationship was, in and of itself.  I entered it with such expectation and hope.  Excitement and plans for a future so much different than what it turned out to be.  It's so difficult looking back and seeing how blind I was, how naïve, how trusting.  How much faith I had in him and how he not only took advantage, but intentionally broke me, as well.  How something as little as decorating my house for Halloween can be a trigger, a reminder, of the scars that I have been covering up and pretending were gone.

 

How even my favorite time of the year is now tainted. 

 

Did my friends and family really believe everything was alright, when 2009 saw the first time in my entire life that I didn't even dress up for Halloween?  Did they forget that I usually dressed up every day of Halloween week, for work, for fun, just because?  Did they really buy the story that I "just wasn't into it," that year?  Did they really miss how depressed and unhappy I was? 

 

It still boggles my mind that even now they can only see "how happy I was."  Am I really such a good actress?  Why did they only notice after I was away from him that I had lost weight?  When I was with him, I "looked great" and even my doctor stated that the weight loss must be "from all of that good sex;" (AFTER he asked me if I had cancer).  As soon as I left the PFA-ex, the weight loss was no longer a good thing, but a "concern."  Surely a sign of something darker, some evil that I was doing to myself.  My happiness upon leaving and renewed joy in life was also viewed as only being possible through some dark avenue.  Why couldn't they see that I was happy to be free? 

 

As I sit and look at one of the few decorations that I have left, a simple gargoyle plaque paying tribute to Dante's Inferno: "Abandon all hope ye who enter here,"  I am not surprised that it is one of the few of my decorations that survived those days.